


As The Days Go By

by soniagiris



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Dangan Ronpa: Trigger Happy Havoc, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst, Drabble Collection, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2018-12-30 02:36:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12098847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soniagiris/pseuds/soniagiris
Summary: There are many things to speak of, to live through. This is just a few of them.





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> this is a collection of my >500 words long ficlets! some of them are spoilery, so be aware o/ warnings in the end notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * warnings in the end notes!  **NDRV3 SPOILERS WARNING FOR DRABBLES NUMBER 1, 4 AND 6**
>   * beta by misty @mistropolis and vee @ikuzonos, thank you c:
> 


_shirogane/harukawa. after the war_

 

Recently there's been a gap between the two of them, Maki thinks with a frown. It's not one similar to a bleeding gash in the flesh, nothing violent—

_(Her thoughts scream in a melody composed by false memories; blood and blades embed themselves underneath her skin.)_

—or overtly disgusting.

It's more like a river without a bridge. It's anticipation, but without any pushing. It's Tsumugi's smile over late breakfast, her pinky hooked around Maki's, and how she says _goodnight_ with a cheerful little lilt in her voice.

It's calm. Maybe it’s not there at all.

Maki crosses her ankles, watching Tsumugi hum an anime opening while her nimble fingers fiddle with the coffee machine, then, out of the blue, tells her, "I think I love you."

Tsumugi turns to her, blinking in mild confusion, then breaks out into a smile.

"I think I love you too."

 

* * *

 

_shinguuji. shorter_

 

There are eyes on him, of course, yet Korekiyo keeps his chin up and doesn't allow himself to get bothered. When he closes the classroom door, a small breeze brushes his now-bare neck and makes him smile. Such a refreshing feeling, this one...  
"Oh, good morning..." Munakata-sensei raises his gaze from the papers on his desk and blinks. "Shinguji."   
"Good morning, sensei," Korekiyo replies smoothly, bowing politely. As usual, he's the first one to arrive, so he can turn his back to the teacher and swiftly exchanges his mask to another one without the fear of being seen. Ah, he knows it's not a rational one, this fiery anxiety, but— But.   
He takes his place and contemplates the view from the window, white clouds fluffing over the horizon and letting the sunlight shine on cherry trees. Quite calming, this sight.   
"Good morning, Munakata-sensei!" he hears Akamatsu-san call, then gasp. "Oh goodness, Shinguji-kun?"   
"Good morning," he says as he turns his face to hers, his short hair moving with the gesture and gently hitting his skin. The girl grins.   
"I love your haircut!" she exclaims, instantly jumping to his side and clasping her hands together. "It's so cool!"   
"Ah, thank you, Akamatsu-san," Korekiyo nods. "Your acceptance does mean a lot to me, but, pray tell, where did you lose Saihara-kun?"   
"I'm here — good morning, Munakata-sensei — and," Saihara-kun raises his brow, "yeah, you do look like a new man." He sets his bag on his desk and gives him a reassuring smile.   
When the rest of his classmates fill the room — as usual, Chabashira-san and Iruma-san are holding hands while Hoshi-kun gives Gonta-kun a fond smirk — there are more comments about his new look.   
"Whoa, dude, you look fuckin' awesome!" Momota-kun hits him on the back, making Korekiyo cough.   
"Thou art... okay," declares Yumeno-san, which is the highest praise the girl could ever muster out.   
"Waah, that's so lovely! Angie gotta thank God for this!" Yonaga-san instantly whips out her sketchbook, pulls out a pencil from behind her ear and gets to wild scribbling.   
Overall... Even when he finds himself having several hair clips inserted into his locks, Korekiyo can't help but decide the decision to change this aspect of his behavior can't be labeled as a particularly poor one.

 

* * *

 

_shirogane/harukawa. the kitchen disaster_

 

Maki holds back a sneeze. Well. Tries to. She ends up accidentally getting flour into her throat — no idea how — and coughing a lung out.   
"Oh gosh," Tsumugi mutters as she pats her girlfriend on the back. "Sorry."   
"Don't apologize," Maki wheezes and reaches for her tablet. "Let's just make some goddamn brownies."   
Tsumugi calmly sets the oven to preheat, then gets to... doing something. Fucking witchcraft. Wondering at her skills, Maki does what she's asked of — cracking open a bunch of eggs, crushing walnuts, at one point she sprints to the shop on the corner to fetch more baking powder — and attempts her darndest not to drool at the sweet smell of cocoa and vanilla.   
"Here," Tsumugi says with a small smile as she hands her the bowl. "Stir it, please, my arms hurt."   
"So do mine," Maki replies. "Want me to kiss you better?"   
Tsumugi shakes her head with yet another grin, then turns back to pour herself a glass of water.   
Maki nonchalantly sticks the spoon into her mouth.   
Hm. Pretty good.   
"Hey!" Tsumugi gently taps her on the wrist. "Wait till we're done!"   
"Nah," Maki drawls out, sets the bowl on the countertop and leans to kiss her girlfriend. Tsumugi mock-whines against her lips, but her beautiful eyes don't stop shining with playful joy.   
"Hell," she says without pulling away. "You better finish your work before we end up with no dough left."   
"It's your fault, you know."   
"Shush."

 

* * *

 

_munakata & sakakura. all all apologies _

 

As he’s running towards the breakers, Kyosuke still hopes he won’t be late. It is a fragile, faint hope, but he holds on to it.

He has to.

(The bangle comes off. He barely notices. If the door between him and Sakakura was closed, he would’ve been ready to cut his own hand off. After everything he put his friend through, it would mean nothing).

The water swirls behind the glass walls, pieces of rubble slowly sinking, but Kyosuke wastes no time looking at it. The nauseating scent of blood grows harder as he runs into the room and stops dead. Distantly feeling his breath escaping him in sharp gasps, he takes those few steps distancing him from the—

When he sees the surprisingly small, limp body leaned against the metal cabinets, for a millisecond he hopes that maybe, maybe—

Then it hits him.

Too late. Once again. Too late to save Chisa from despair, too late to stop Enoshima, too late to say goodbye to Sakakura.

(Then it hits him. He’s alone, now. His friends, his best friends, his companions who smiled at him and promised to help him only a few years ago — they left. And it’s all his goddamn fault.)

With his heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly, Kyosuke walks up to Sakakura and drops on his knees, looks at Sakakura’s frozen face, then bows his head in shame and sorrow.

When was the last time he smiled like that? So very peacefully, as if nothing is hurting.

“I’m sorry,” Kyosuke chokes out. His eye stings with tears, and he’s too tired to pretend it’s dust. “I never manage to make it in time.”

He almost says _I should never stop believing in you. I apologize for killing you. Your biggest mistake was trusting me._

All those almosts, all those unspoken words, all those confessions Juzo is never going to hear— Kyosuke curls up, hugs himself and starts sobbing, and it’s not dignified, not at all, it's big fat tears streaming down, ugly sounds hitching in his throat, and, too exhausted to think anything through, he leans forward to press his lips to Juzo’s forehead.

The taste of blood sets him off even worse.

He did this. He killed him.

Kyosuke wishes Juzo hadn’t forgiven him. He does not deserve it.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, not really able to stop his voice from shaking. “I’m so sorry.” He presses his hand to his mouth, feels tears running down his scraped knuckles, and wonders,

_where did everything go wrong?_

 

* * *

 

_shirogane/harukawa. safety under colored sky_

 

"Hey. Shirogane, wake up."  
Sluggish in her interrupted slumber, Tsumugi rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and heaves herself up, shaking tangled blankets off her body. By the window stands Maki, ends of her hair and her disgruntled expression lit up by the sparks of color coming from behind the glass. She stretches her hand out without looking at Tsumugi, and the girl obediently grabs it as she gets to her feet, the roughness of the well-worn carpet a hell to her heels.   
"Why are you awake?" she asks quietly, then follows Maki's line of sight and opens her mouth to gasp.   
Fireworks are exploding above the city, a myriad of fading stars in blues and reds and greens. Their light falls on Maki's face, quickly painting it in pinks and purples and whites, and Tsumugi finds it hard to tear her wandering gaze away and focus, once again, on the show.   
"Beautiful," she breaths. Maki acknowledges it with a faint squeeze of her hand. "What's the occasion though?"   
"I have no godly idea." Maki scoffs. "Maybe some rich bastard was feeling happy and decided to celebrate."   
"Maybe," Tsumugi echoes. "Good for them."   
"Yeah, whatever," says Maki, her fingers warm in Tsumugi's grip. Warm and feeling... like they fit there.   
Huh.   
"Thanks for waking me up," Tsumugi says after a while of shared, undemanding silence. Her voice doesn't wobble, which is quite an achievement. A pathetic one, perhaps, but it's still— still something. A grain of sand, a droplet of water, a fraction of a whole. She shuffles a bit until her side presses to Maki's, their hands trapped between their (alive) bodies. The girl tilts her head, her temple resting on Tsumugi's arm.   
To be alive. To be beautiful. To be _whole._ In this two in the morning, multicolored light, Tsumugi finds herself relearning those concepts.

 

* * *

 

_ouma &saihara. surviving _

 

"Ouma-kun." Shuichi breathes out, pinching the bridge of his nose. He's really too exhausted for this. "Could you..."  
"Nope!" Ouma-kun sticks out his tongue, then throws the blanket over the two of them. "Gonta-chan taught me to be a gentleman, after all, so I will share with you, my beloved Saihara-chan!"   
Shuichi calculates for a second, then gives up. Sneaking a look at Yumeno-san — she got the smaller blanket, and was already asleep, curled up on her side with her fists balled by her mouth — he pats the carpet beside himself and waits for Ouma-kun to settle down, then shuts his weary eyes and—   
A few hours of blissful unconsciousness later (he really expected to have night terrors, about the game and Shirogane-san and Kiibo-kun and about everything falling apart around him), he finds himself half awake and warm. A bit too warm.   
"Sorry, Ouma-kun," he mouths to the darkness and covers the asleep boy with his well-deserved half of this cursed blanket.   
He stays like this, half sitting and looking at Ouma-kun's frowning expression, then goes back to sleep.   
Tomorrow they'll have to find help, after all.

 

* * *

 

_togami/kirigiri. the one(s) to (be) hope_

 

Their eyes meet, and it’s a battle, a quick one. They both forfeit. Kirigiri gives him a childishly proud smile, then leans backward, half-sitting on the edge of her desk, and says, once again severe,  
“I believe in Naegi-kun, and I advise you to do so too.” Her eyes sparkle. “When has he disappointed us?”   
Togami scoffs at that, then gathers the papers and throws them into his briefcase. Clicking it shut, he momentarily lets go of his self-assured expression, then puts it back on.   
“That’s just a matter of time. Hopefully—” he pauses and turns to Kirigiri “—that project of his won’t be the first one.”   
“Hopefully he’ll save those kids,” Kirigiri mutters, straightening the lapel of her suit. Togami’s sight falls to her long legs, muscles defined even under the fabric of slacks, then coughs and says,   
“We can talk over dinner.”   
It’s their code, used if they suspect anyone may hear (and perhaps to make its meaning less absolute). It means, _I trust you._   
Kirigiri nods, then pulls him for a rushed yet warm kiss and hops off the desk, strutting towards the doors. Togami watches her go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: violence mentions/discussion; canonical character death; blood; amputation discussion;**
>   * hoooope you like this! c: i had a lot of fun writing this tbh
> 



	2. two.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ikuzono special!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * beta by misty @mistropolis and vee @ikuzonos, thank you!
>   * warnings in the end notes!
> 


_ ikusaba/maizono. smooth chocolate kisses _

 

"Damn right!" Sayaka cheers upon checking the contents of her bag. Sensing an impending disaster, Mukuro pulls themself upright and throws Sayaka's blanket off their legs, all ready to freakin' fight.

"The hell happened?" they ask warily, eyeing their girlfriend. "Did Junko try to have you sneak her a bottle of booze in your purse and then forgot about it?”

"Better," Sayaka exclaims as she's sitting back on the bed with her palms hidden behind her back. Her eyes glisten maliciously , and, were they someone else (and didn't date this lovely little songbird), Mukuro would— Ah, scrap it. Their partner wouldn't be able to frighten even a toddler that was exposed to too many creepy cartoons.

"Uh." Mukuro tugs on Sayaka's sleeve in thought, then coughs awkwardly. "You’re about to propose and, uh, you finally unearthed the ring from the depths of your bag?"

"We're still in high school, isn't that a bit too early to propose? But…" She cocks her head and furrows her brow. "Aww. Love you too, sweetheart. And thanks for reminding me about— Whoops , spoilers." Cue a wink. "But not for too long."

"A-Anyway." Mukuro doesn't need a mirror to know that they just flushed bright pink. "I don't feel like playing the guessing game, just tell me what this is before I use my-" they wriggle their fingers- "soldier skills on your beautiful ass."

"Kinky," is what Sayaka says before pulling out a piece of chocolate candy and sticking it into her mouth. "Ando-senpai paid a visit," she gibbers out with a cheeky grin, then gives Mukuro the bedroom, half-lidded gaze, trying her best to pucker her lips. It's damn well certain that, if it weren't for the fact she can't exactly talk right now, she'd probably yell something about a pocky game. 

Without batting an eyelash, Mukuro presses the bonbon into Sayaka's mouth, then, as she begins to raise her brows in indignation, leans forward and kisses her.

"You dork," Sayaka whines half-heartedly without breaking the contact. Mukuro shrugs, then whispers,

"Love you too."

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. serene mornings _

Old habits die hard; Mukuro is damn well aware of it. Some days they still find themself listening raptly to any unexpected noise, or fighting off the urge to tuck a kitchen knife behind their skirt's band, or doing a lot of typical soldier stuff that bewilders strangers and makes their friends frown. Well. Not like Mukuro isn't used to it.   
"At least I'm ready for a zombie apocalypse," they note flatly every time they're asked, their eyes half-lidded and calm.    
However — well. There's also them waking up at sunrise, which is quite a good thing. They can take their sweet time stretching their muscles and reveling in Sayaka's body warmth, occasionally brushing their fingers over their sleeping fiancee's hair. The sparse sunbeams color the curtains golden orange. If Mukuro listens harder, they can hear birds singing.   
"But you sing the best," they finish out loud, and the smile they give to Sayaka belongs only to the two of them.   
"Th'nks," Sayaka mutters into the pillow. Mukuro freezes, then chuckles fondly.    
"Good morning," they say placidly. Sayaka sticks her hand out from underneath the covers and waves it until she finds Mukuro's palm, still pressed to her hair. She squeezes it and yawns.   
"What hour 's it?"   
"Uh," Mukuro replies. "Early."   
"Go back to sleep, you heck," Sayaka rolls her eyes without much vigor. "Or else."   
"Sorry for waking you up."   
"Get a few more hours of rest, and we're even."   
"Whatever," Mukuro says as they allow Sayaka to pull them down beside her, then open their arms so she can snuggle against their chest. "At least we don't have anything important to do in the morning."   
"You call oh-hell a.m. 'the morning'?" Sayaka opens one eye to glare woefully at her partner. "Honey, I feel vaguely worried."   
"I get things done, but you know that."   
"Mm. Still. Go to sleep."   
"You too."   
Snickering into Mukuro's collarbone, Sayaka blows a raspberry, and finally, finally, falls asleep. And, realizing that staying in bed till noon sounds actually quite nice, Mukuro gladly follows.

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. won't let you fall down _

 

If someone asked Sayaka how this moment began, she couldn't reply. And she wouldn't mind that. In all honesty, now she can't bring herself to mind a lot of things. It's as if the time— Ah, such a cliche, to say that it has stopped.

Maybe it's more like it's something akin to a warm bubble, where the present is looping around them.

Warmth. That's Sayaka's whole world now. With her eyes closed and the room soundproofed, the only sound being Mukuro's relaxed breathing, the sole sensation is this warmness. Of their legs entangled under a fluffy blanket. Of their shared air. (It's so incredibly intimate, and Sayaka feels kind of drunk on it; falls more and more in love).

(Such a curious word. One syllable to convey the myriad of emotions.)

And there is the warmth that fills Sayaka's heart, as she's laying draped on Mukuro's chest, the autumnal glow of affection and trust and being trusted. She presses her cheek to Mukuro's throat. The other girl tightens her grip on Sayaka's fingers, then brings them to her lips so that she can kiss the knuckles smoothly.

A small gesture, and yet Sayaka can't suppress a grin.

"Was it alright?" Mukuro inquires quietly, a hint of uncertainty tinting her whispered words. Sayaka hums an agreement into Mukuro's suddenly flushed skin. They've decided to take it slow. They have the entire future remaining. They hold hands, and hug, and touch their cheekbones, two young, free girls.

"Okay?" Sayaka murmurs gently.

"Okay," Mukuro replies, her fingers squeezing Sayaka's more firmly, once, twice. A quick, song-like rhythm. There is no need for Sayaka to open her eyes to see Mukuro's beautiful smile.

But, even so, she does, raising her head a bit, so their noses brush. Mukuro giggles briefly at that, her eyelashes throwing a shadow on her freckles. Her arm stays around Sayaka's shoulders, not pushing her away. It's clear from her faint blush that she does realize that if Sayaka leaned just a bit closer, they would, for the very first time—

"Okay?" Sayaka asks tenderly.

"Okay."

And, just like that, their lips touch. And, just like that, Sayaka feels the warmth of their shared breath, the slight taste of strawberries. And, just like that, it's fine.

They're fine.

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. breathless _

 

“Mukuro Ikusaba.” Sayaka coughs into her fist, then, carefully maintaining her composure, continues as Mukuro stares incredulously at her. “I do have a question to ask of you, and please make sure to answer as truthfully as possible.”

“Al…right?” Mukuro tilts their head, frowning. “Sayaka, listen, you’re scaring me.”

“Am I?” Welp, there goes the composure.

“No, not really.” Mukuro flashes a smirk when Sayaka deflates. “But that sounds like you’re about to, God, propose, or announce that we’re moving to the shadow realm and fighting demons.”

“No! I mean, I, uh. No to the latter, let’s wait till we graduate to the former.” Sayaka rubs the bridge of her nose, then says flatly, “I wanted to ask if I can kiss you.”

“That’s… all?” Mukuro presses a hand to their chest. “Jesus Christ, Sayaka. I mean…” They chew on their lower lip, then wipe it with the top of their hand and say, “I think that… you surely can.”

“So, shall we proceed?” Sayaka chirps, her spirits high once again. When Mukuro nods, she steps forward, to where Mukuro’s perched on the edge of her bed, and slowly leans down until their lips touch. 

At first, the sensation sends shivers through her body. Then Mukuro pushes closer, and it’s like fireworks. Then their fingers tangle together, and the two of them fall onto the mattress, arms tight around each other’s bodies, and Sayaka tastes fire. Her thoughts blare in sheer joy.

When they pull away for a gasping breath, she notices Mukuro has trouble opening their eyes. She gently bops them on the nose, and they mumble something incoherent in reply.

“W-Wow,” Sayaka manages. Mukuro shrugs, still looking as if they’re about to faint. They’re smiling.

“Wow indeed.”

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. guess what's on your mind _

 

The day Mukuro comes back, Sayaka can barely focus on whatever her superior is stuttering into her ears. She nods her yes’s and frowns her no’s, and grips her phone under the table with so much force her knuckles go white as chalk. Finally, when the meeting adjourns, and Mitarai-san gives her a shaky smile, she bows to him and sprints out of the conference room, barely remembering to close the door behind herself.

When she gets to the airport, Mukuro’s plane has already landed, and she can see her friend exchanging last words with their CO. They spot Sayaka out of the corner of their eye and wave at her, then nod curtly to Sakakura-san and jog towards her. 

“Hi,” they say, breathlessly. And Sayaka—

Sayaka  _ breaks.  _

God, she didn’t even realize how much she missed their voice. The way they move. Their awkward yet fond smile. She barely realizes she started to cry.

“Hey, Sayaka,” Mukuro manages before she throws herself into their arms, looping her arms around their neck and sobbing into their shoulder. They smell like dust and gunpowder, and they’re alive. They’re alive.

“Of course I’m alive,” they scoff — ah, so Sayaka said the last part out loud — and wrap their hands around her. “I wasn’t gone for that long.”

“Still…” Sayaka sniffles, then tilts her head and that ‘still’, that unspoken possibility, is what urges her to lean forward and press her lips to Mukuro’s.

They freeze, just for the infinite part of a second, then return the kiss, their palm moving from Sayaka’s waist to her hair, tangling their fingers in short strands of indigo. 

Sayaka tastes the salt of her own tears and the rubbery aftertaste of a gas mask. It’s not perfect, and that’s why it  _ is _ perfect. It’s alive. It’s dangerous, because of _ ‘ _ still _ ’ _ , but there’s bravery in it, too. There’s the bravery to hope and believe. It’s a kiss in the middle of a military airport, and people are probably either trying not to stare or outright gawking, and there are dark shadows under Mukuro’s eyes and crusted blood under their fingernails, and Sayaka’s teardrops slide onto their cheeks, but— to hell with it! This is the hope she wants. They want. The purest, rawest hope that’ll bring the daylight.

Breaking away but still close, her nose brushing with Mukuro’s and their lips still touching, Sayaka murmurs,

“Welcome home.”

“I missed you,” Mukuro replies, their voice low and gentle, and everything’s going to be fine.

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. underneath _

 

"Are you sure about this?" Sayaka crosses her arms, eyeing the bed. "I mean... It  _ is _ pretty small."

"Do we have a choice?" Shit. Mukuro's pretty sure their face is aflame. They cough into their fist, turning their head so their hair will hide just a little bit more of their cheeks, red like a— a well-worn carpet in a cheap love hotel. 

"Not really." Sayaka sighs and motions to the bed. "Let's hop in and spend the night. Maybe the Foundation will pick us up tomorrow."

"Losers," Mukuro says and crawls under the dusty duvet. They sneeze, to which Sayaka giggles.

Three hours later, when Sayaka is in a middle of a semi-coherent tale about snails and cats, her eyes closed as she's snoozing happily away, it's Mukuro's turn to laugh. They tug the covers over Sayaka's shoulders and listen on, grinning.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: alcohol mentions; violence mentions; pda**
>   * yeah i hc mukuro as a nonbinary lesbian who uses they/them pronouns but that one drabble where i Don't is an. old one that i may rewrite one day. idk. 
>   * i realized i wrote a Lot of ikuzono drabbles and i have decided to put them in a one sleek chapter. but i still have tens more. kill me.
>   * for the next week or so i'll be away and unable to post anything - so here have a random chapter that came out of nowhere. enjoy. c: 
> 



	3. three.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * warnings in the end notes!
>   * beta by vee @ikuzonos and misty @mistropolis, thank you!
>   * **NDRV3 SPOILER WARNING FOR THE THIRD DRABBLE**
> 


_ munakata/yukizome. dystopia _

 

This was never supposed to happen, you think. It was supposed to be  _ y ou _ _._ A horrid dream, the bleakest kind of hope.

You remember studying business management, all those (few) years ago, when you were bright-eyed and full of belief, and you remember a term, an English one, how did it— ah. The best alternative to a negotiated agreement.

After shedding your naivety and ceasing to fight with words instead of blades, you thought about Chisa, and you decided,  _ if I can't bring her the future she deserves, then I'll gladly die in her arms. _ And you liked to think about it, from time to time, drowsy from exhaustion and hunger, about how it would feel. To bleed out, your grip on her dainty hand loosening, and your last word would be her name, and wouldn't that be funny, this second-to-best future.

And, yet, she's fallen on the table, and she is dead, and she looks so small and frightened, like a bird you found in your garden as a seven year old boy. And you cried for that bird, as your sister buried it by the cherry tree and sung a song in English.

Yet you're not crying for Chisa. You're too numb. You only feel the last string connecting you to the old world order shattering. And you shatter, too, and all you can do is go on and think that  _ hers was the heaven, ours was the earth, and all I have left is the hell. _

You're not crying for Chisa.

Your misery is dry and cold, and you—

are—

_ alive. _

 

* * *

 

_ naegi/munakata. the one that got away _

 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen.” Pausing to take a deep breath, Kyosuke lets go of Makoto’s hand. “I’m so sorry… I’m sorry.”

Makoto bites on his lips, bringing his, now free, fingers to massage his aching forehead. The cold air brushes his bare legs. And yet, he doesn’t want to return to his — their — bed. Not now, at least.

(Why is he terrified? Terrified of the man he loves, or he thinks he does. Love. Such a tender feeling. And he’s afraid of it. Or maybe of him. There's this lingering dread, finding itself in how his heart hammers rapidly, the funny, little lump of flesh beating against the ribs.)

“Makoto?”

He shakes his head mutely. Later, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat, barbed wires of words that taste like soot.

(Was it a mistake? Them getting together? Moving from those hot, passionate nights to something so strangely domestic? Trying to glue the broken pieces of themselves into a family of some sort?)

(It was bound to occur, one day. The warm, cozy stage of puppy adoration, of rosy cheeks and shy smiles wore off, and the nightmares—)

(Three years isn’t that much. Not enough to let the memories of blood and dust, and blackened eye, and, oh, so eerily beautiful Kirigiri was even in death. Not enough to let those damn memories get blurry, more bearable.)

And, despite everything, Makoto can still feel the resolute grip of Kyosuke’s cold fingers on his thin neck, see the dull anger and despair, hear his own grating, strained breathing as he was struggling to remind the man looming above him that— it’s over, it’s all over, they’re safe, please wake up—

He cannot honestly blame him for this.

“Okay,” he breathes out, finally. “I— I’m sorry, but I think… I should sleep in my room, tonight.” 

Kyosuke stiffens, then nods without saying anything. There is guilt and sorrow found in the loose line of his shoulders, and Makoto wishes this never happened, this whole—

(Who knows what he means. Who knows.)

Locking the door behind himself, he can’t look back. There’s too much regret within him. If only, if only…

(God, he misses Kyoko.)

 

* * *

 

_ saihara. on misfortune _

 

he shouldn't feel like this. he's lucky, after all, luck's plastered to his neck like a parasite, and if it weren't for it, he wouldn't be alive. 

it's like a— what was the number? one to trillions, the chance of him being born? not a child, a nameless child without a name or gender or personality, or— anyway, he's lucky to exist. he's lucky not be just a statistic, a passerby you see in the bus and wonder if they're real.

point is — shuichi should be happy.

he should be grateful.

he should wake up and taste the fresh air, and gasp because of how vibrant colors are, and intake the smell of oatmeal, sushi, cheese sandwiches, should feel happy to be alive. (happy to be able he can feel happy to be alive)

(happy about his life)

(happy it's not worse)

(it could be worse)

(she—  _ she _ couldn't have been able to save him)

but he feels like a broken hollow bottle. the emptiness of him flashes its sharp teeth and urges on.

(one too many pill. one cut too deep. one wrong step. it'd be easy, so easy, that monster who is him says softly)

(you could join her, you could join him, you could join all of them, shuichi, my dearest truthful liar)

when the unfiltered, sheer light covers him and bounces off his instinctual grin, shuichi feels alive.

and maybe that's the sign he's been waiting for. a mistake made better, a wasted chance, an unlucky overdramatic brat,  _ he _ realizes that perhaps this is his time to step off the scene and let someone else take his place.

maybe that's the luck he's willing to accept.

 

* * *

 

_ togami/nanami. of ice chips and peaches _

 

"...ah." Chiaki blinks at him, then frowns slightly. "But... why?"

"The reason for my proposal is that... I would prefer our first so-called date to be an outstanding one," Togami proclaims, pushing his glasses up once again. Geez, he should make an appointment with his optician. And thank her for providing him an opportunity to hide his slightly reddened cheeks. The cause of that being this chilly November weather, naturally.  _ Definitely _ not his partner being ridiculously adorable. 

"Togami-chan... You know that it's not my genre?" Chiaki tilts her head. Then she adds with a gentle smile, "All this museum and restaurants stuff. Where did you even get that date idea?" 

For a moment, Togami stays boastfully silent. Then, Chiaki, this damned, charming beast, slips her hand into his. He can't do anything else than relent and (definitely not sullenly) say, "From the internet."

Here goes nothing.

Shaking her head, Chiaki rubs her soft thumb against the skin of Togami's palm. But she is still smiling that quiet, sunshine smile. Togami lets out a breath.

"I'm sorry that your effort has brought you no XP, but I'd feel a bit OOC in such a situation." She pronounces the English terms carefully. "Maybe another time, okay?" 

"If you wish," Togami replies lightly. He's still not sullen. Just so everyone knows.

"Besides, I..." Chiaki puffs out her pink-tinted cheeks. "I have my own idea that you'd like. I think."

Two days later, they find themselves in an arcade. Togami gets demolished in all the games they play, but he's smiling so widely his face hurts. Chiaki chuckles at that as they go back to the dorms. She stands on her tiptoes to peck the tip of his nose. Togami makes a weird noise, slips on the icy road and falls in a heap of snow.

Chiaki follows his lead, because — of course. Wiping the ice chips from his glasses, Togami sends a glare her way, but she's too busy looking for her beanie.

The meeting ends in Chiaki's dorm — or, does it really end? Togami isn't absolutely convinced of that. However, as he's carding his fingers through his partner's hair and taking in its fruity smell...

Well.

Maybe Chiaki was right.

("Of course I was," she'll say later in a flat voice. And Togami will kiss her, too embarrassed for anything else.)

 

* * *

 

_ momota/amami. add lemon to your conditioner and use it instead of regular shampoo (trust me, i got it off tumblr) _

 

"What the shit, man," Kaito snorts. Rantaro raises his brow in a silent question, so he elaborates, "You look like a fuckin' puppy."

"For real?" Rantaro makes a confused face, then, as he's plopping himself by his boyfriend's side, he pulls out his phone and checks his reflection in it. "You mean... this?" He gestures in the general direction of his head.

"What else?" Kaito throws his arm around the Rantaro's shoulders and tugs him closer, until the ends of his green mop tickle his bared shoulder. "Your hair is really soft after you wash it." He pets it experimentally and nods. “Yep. Soft as hell.”

"Oh." Rantarou opens his mouth, then closes it and turns his face, nose brushing against Kaito's skin, to plant a kiss over his partner's cheekbone. "Well. I'm taking good care of it, after all."

Kaito eyes him, then purses his lips in that particular expression which means 'I know that damn well, dude, you always wake up at five in the morning when you get up to fucking slather yourself with masks or ointments or some other shit.' (Kaito is a very expressive man, after all). 

"I thought dyeing your hair means fucking it up," he says out loud.

"I have my means," Rantarou replies with a cheeky smile.

 

* * *

 

_ naegi/togami. dance dance _

 

If someone told Naegi to describe his house in one word, he definitely wouldn't choose the word 'organized', 'cause, let's be honest, akin to a caffeine-less Kirigiri, neither he nor Komaru like to keep track of their belongings. Old mangas, worn-out stuffed pandas, and frogs, and pigs (and several other plushies of different kinds), souvenirs Dad brought from his trips — y'know. And, apparently, oh-so-old Dance Dance Revolution game.

"What revolution?" Togami furrows his brow and sits down on the tiny, tattered sofa, holding the game at a safe distance. "France can-canned the Brits out of their country?"

Naegi rolls his eyes. Okay, okay, he's Super Duper High School Level Ultimately Happy that his boyfriend can joke now, but. Please. Some of his so-called jokes are lame enough to put six-graders after couple sips of beer to shame.

"Nope. No can-canning. And I think can-can is Spanish or something, you wanna-be-European." He nudges Togami in the side. "Wanna check it out?"

"Not even remotely," Togami sneers, and Naegi soon forgets about this whole ordeal.

***

"Are. You. Serious?" Naegi deadpans.

He's seen things, all right. Weird things. Shocking things. And things that are just plain dumb. (We see you, Hagakure). But this. This? This is new. This is the whole new level of wtf-ness. Of oh-the-almighty-deities-you-see-this-and-still-do-not-smite-us-all-ness.

"So you checked it out. And, apparently, haven't stopped checking it out since then. Since two months ago." Those words are drier than the Sahara desert. He learned from the best.

He falls flat on his butt, staring from the floor at his dumb boyfriend who's sweaty, panting and scrolling through the DDR menu.

"I am the best at everything," Togami proclaims proudly. "At dancing too." He grins, what is— wow. Naegi blushes fiercely, overcame by his boyfriend's sudden hotness. And then he notices disposable cups of coffee. Empty. In stacks. And this dumb four-eyed lemon's grin is too wide, way too shaky.

"Are there any dances for two people?" he asks weakly. Togami nods, hopping from one foot to another. "Okay. We'll dance..."

"Nice!"

"...after some sleep."

"Not nice." Togami frowns. "Four hours."

***

They sleep for five hours. Then, they dance.

In the morning, they are both super stiff and prone to groans of pain. Asahina shakes her head and proclaims gleefully, "I really don't want to know what you two do behind closed doors."

 

* * *

 

_ ikusaba/maizono. a tainted domesticity _

 

Pausing to sniff the bowl of oatmeal she has prepared for herself, Sayaka takes a long, hard look at Mukuro, whose own breakfast sits untouched on the rusty picnic table, then asks, "Why aren't you eating?"

"Uh— What?" Mukuro blinks up at her, seemingly a bit confused, then gives her a shaky smile, pushing the dish away. "I'm not hungry. You can eat it, though."

"Are you feeling unwell?" As anxiety flows over her, Sayaka reaches out to press the back of her palm against Mukuro's forehead, but they swat her hand off and instantly mutter out an apology.

"I'm alright, really. Just... not hungry, is all." They laugh, which sounds off, and get up from the ratty chair. When they move to grab their backpack and a duffel bag of weapons, apparently planning to head off into the wasteland, Sayaka grasps their sleeve.

She says hollowly, "You haven't been eating much lately. Ik— Mukuro. I'm worried."

"Listen, I— Ugh." They turn to face her and gently brush their calloused fingertips over her cheek. "I'll be fine. I'm used to it, after all that Fenrir business. And you're not, Sayaka-chan." They poke her in the ribs, which are kind of more prominent than a year ago, than before everything went out in fire and poison.

"That's dumb!" Sayaka exclaims, holding on tighter, despite knowing Mukuro could wrench themself free in any moment. "I- That doesn't mean you can go around on an empty stomach; what if something happens and you're not able to fight?!"  _ What if you leave me alone?! _ goes unsaid.

"Well." Mukuro shrugs awkwardly. "I... will try not to get into any potentially dangerous situations, then? Is that okay?"

"No," Sayaka says curtly.

"No?"

"Nuh-uh." She pulls on their sleeve again. "Finish your breakfast, or I won't let you leave. Ever. Again."

"Geez." They stalk back to the table, flop down on the chair and dutifully empty the bowl without wasting any time. "There we go. Happy now?"

"No." 

Before Mukuro can protest, Sayaka drapes herself over them and plants a kiss on their temple.

"I love you, and I need you. And I don't want you to be angry at me. I want you to be alive, okay?" she says. Mukuro makes a small noise in the back of their throat, then wraps their arm around their girlfriend's waist and rest their chin on her shoulder.

"In that case…" Their voice is a tad lighter. Almost happy. "What have you planned for dinner?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: death discussion; violence mentions; suicide discussion; depression; medication mention; self-harm mention; pda.**
>   * a lot of this stuff is. very very old, so i'm deeply sorry if you have any trouble reading it! my english still leaves a lot to be desired ;;
>   * comment/kudo if you read/liked c:
> 



	4. four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * **warnings in the end notes!**
>   * beta by vee @ikuzonos and misty @mistropolis!
> 


_shirogane/harukawa. swear to my bones_

 

there are two empty wine bottles set in a small row on their kitchen counter, and maki is feeling light-headed. but her thoughts don't escape from her, merely float lazily in the hazy, warm light. she opens the balcony door, tsumugi on her heels, and doesn't look at the clock. the new year bursts into life with cheers from streets below as the sky fills with explosions of colors. maki throws her head back and _screams,_ the sensation of being _alive_ and _there_ coursing through her veins like hot honey.

"happy new year," tsumugi says after maki's voice has given out. her nightgown flutters in the cold wind, and she's the most beautiful fucking human being maki's ever seen.

she opens her mouth to return the wishes, but instead rasps out, "kiss me."

tsumugi falls into her embrace as smoothly as white paint mixes with black, and her lips on maki's are chapped, faintly tasting of peach champagne and fresh rain.

the kiss lasts for a long time, and so do both of them.

 

* * *

 

_ikusaba/maizono. harsh august sun_

 

The harsh August sun smolders against every exposed patch of their body, but Mukuro doesn't particularly care. There are worse things to experience.

The harsh August sun heats up Sayaka's skin; hard enough it's almost unpleasant to touch. Almost, because Mukuro, holding her in their arms, doesn't want to, can't bring themself to let go. Not now. At least not now.

"I hate this," Sayaka spits out bitterly. Her suit jacket lies discarded on the ground, Future Foundation button catching the sharp light. "I hate this world."

"I know," Mukuro says. Sayaka offers them the rarity of a genuine smile, then loosens her hold on their shirt where she clutched onto it, ball-fisted and shaking.

"I also hate feeling helpless," she says, almost off-handedly, then shakes her head. The curve of a frown returns to her starched lips. "I wanted to help, but I— couldn't."

"Mm," Mukuro offers, stretching out their legs. The concrete on which they're sitting has absorbed enough heat to burn even through the fabric of their slacks. "I— allow me to repeat myself. I know."

"You do," Sayaka says softly, then shifts on Mukuro's lap, pulling her knees towards her chest. Even in the shadows, the air feels like it's about to melt. Sayaka takes a shallow breath, then another, and it hitches unpleasantly, and Mukuro can only lean forward to press their lips to hers.

Sayaka's fingers grab onto theirs. After a brief moment of contact, she pulls away and whispers, her eyelashes fluttering like a trapped butterfly's wings, "I'm sorry, are you sure you—"

Mukuro answers by kissing her more. Somehow, it feels like a blessing, gratitude, and grief all at once.

 

* * *

 

_munakata/yukizome; scream_

 

_it's you._

_it's always been you._

even though this overwhelming sensation of drowning, of falling (you're in a freefall and it doesn't stop _won't stop;_ you dread the end and yearn for the ground), how hard it makes thinking, you listen. you listen to her familiar voice. to her cheery tone. she explains, she laughs, she brushes her soft hair from where it's fallen on her warm eyes. she's the girl you've once known. and yet she's not. her words are nothing more than broken icicles.

 _who are you,_ you want to scream.

scream.

and you don't know what to do. who to trust. hope, despair, the old, tired conflict, how boring, how unnecessary, and are those _your_ thoughts, or are those _her_ words. you don't know.

the game should be over. and it is not. naegi lives and breathes and talks about brainwashing and hope, and the girl you've used to know purses her lips at that. _no,_ she chirps, _naegi, that's not true, see, what's the use of hope if a short video can corrupt it,_ and then she looks at you and she _smiles._ she smiles the same smile that you love. loved. and she calls for you. you should kill her. you are expected to kill her.

that old, tired choice, hope or despair — and you avert your eye and think. and it'd be so easy to despair, to just relax and drown, cease the useless fight, and join her, join chisa, to love and bleed and kill and die with her.

to let juzo's sacrifice be in vain. all the spilled blood, broken words and broken promises; his life shattered like a thin ice because of the tainted hope, and so you've made your decision.

you take chisa's hand and press it to your lips, and it's neither forgiveness nor benediction. her expression changes. you look at chisa and wonder.

who is she, really? the mastermind, the despair, the fifth branch's leader, the homeroom teacher, the former ultimate maid, your lover, your salvation, your downfall?

chisa, you decide. it's _chisa._ and it's always been her.

and, with that, you grip the hilt of your katana tighter and plunge the blade through your own chest.

even after all, the thought of seeing chisa hurt is unbearable. and you already killed her once, and it was hard enough, so here you are, fading away with her, as the 8-bit tune rings out and as she claws at her throat and as she falls down, allowing you this last bit of honor.

this last bit of love.

 

* * *

 

_togami/naegi. got away_

 

Oh, don't you wish he was the one that went away. It would be better for you — despite everything, you’re egoistical. You don’t want it to hurt so much. You're such a coward. If he went away, you would suffer, but not for so long. Maybe you would start to hate him. But now, now you only hate yourself. You got afraid, ran away, inflicted pain, his and yours. You didn’t want that! You love him, it’s obvious, you want to be with him, and you used to be! You gave him everything, went too deep—

—too deep. You didn’t want it to be this way. Did you love him too much. Every moment together — priceless. You would die for him. But… you two couldn’t be together. Not like this, not now, not with _you_ being _you._

Do you wish Naegi was the one that went away.

 

* * *

 

_togami. finality_

 

if you concentrate just — yes, like this — just like that, you can hear them laughing. your classmates, in the room next to yours, are laughing, and the sound overflows with sheer, youthful joy of being alive. you chew on your cuticle, where the skin is rough and breakable, and count the days until this damned school trip ends.

you weren't forced to go, not really, but you chose to do it regardless. rationalized it to yourself — made a mental list of sights to see, opportunities to claim, foreign food to scoff at. and you hushed that part of yourself that hoped that maybe, just maybe, that'll be the _break_ in the ice castle you've been building around yourself. you thought as you were falling asleep, you thought in that unguarded, (in)finite moment of lightness, that — maybe this will be the milestone between loneliness and salvation.

you curl up on your bed, sheets and blankets tangled around your freezing feet, and choke on a bitter laugh. what a pathetic noise. unfitting. it has no place inside your brick walls. neither do those disgusting regrets. you are not to whine about what is your accepted destiny, you remind yourself, keeping your inner voice cold. icebergs, last song on the titanic, cool glasses of champagne.

there's another blast of inane laughter; you grimace. truly, there's no use in getting worked up over not joining those children. you are better than that. you must be.

you bury your head in the pillow, blinking until your eyelashes tickle your skin. you do not cry, however. you're togami. you're _the_ togami. you're not like them.

and you push away the faintest regret about this wound-like gap. you ignore the pang of pain in your chest. you do not give a damn about not wanting to be lonely.

you made your choice, and you will stand by it.

(besides, it's not like you really want them to be here, or want to be — with — them.)

(right.)

 

* * *

 

_ikusaba/maizono. plotting_

"Explain it to me again — why do we need to pretend to be married?" Mukuro rubs the bridge of their nose, trying to will away the headache. They knew, damn right _knew,_ that coming to some sort of gala with their crush would be a _bad_ idea.

Sayaka simply gives them another dazzling grin, then jerks her head in the direction of a woman dressed in a pink sailor outfit.

"Because I hate this bitch," she chirps.

"As far as I know, all she did was say that it's a surprise, that a beautiful girl like you doesn't have a boyfriend yet." Mukuro pauses, then grins. "Oh. Oh my."

"You see?" Sayaka shakes their fist. "This howler monkey will eat her ponytail when we're done with her."

"Why me, though?" Mukuro cuts their eyes at a random member of Sayaka's band, hovering by the snack bar. "You being together—"

"Being married!"

"—with your bandmate would make more sense."

"But I want to be married to you..." Sayaka's lips start to tremble.

"Are you being overdramatic yet again?" Mukuro bites back the urge to hug Sayaka and meticulously keeps their face flat. "Sayaka-san, please..."

"Okay, okay, let's just say..." Her cheeks redden. "Let's say I thought that we could flee from here together, and if we are pretending to be married, that'd fit our story, and— and— Yeah."

"Ah." Now it's Mukuro's turn to blush. "Well then," they say, a bit helplessly, but with a smile, "to where will we be fleeing, then?"

 

* * *

 

_munakata/yukizome. young love_

 

“We’re going to be late if we don’t leave in, like, 5 minutes ago.” A cup crashes to the floor. "Oh no."

"Chisa..." Kyosuke presses his face into the pillow and lets out a small groan. "Please tell me it wasn't my Ace Attorney mug that met its demise."

"Nope, it wasn't!" A sound of cabinets opening and closing comes from their tiny kitchen, followed by a strong smell of coffee. "Okay, can you get up now?"

Kyosuke doesn't get up. Saying he 'got up' implies some sort of grace in such movement, and he simply scrambles out of bed, almost stumbling over his own feet, and it takes him less than five seconds to arrive in the kitchen and empty the entire cup in one long chug. Chisa watches him with a smile.

"Much better," Kyosuke pronounces, then looks down at himself. "Hm. Perhaps I should get dressed."

"I'm sure Juzo will understand if you show up shirtless." Chisa's grin grows even wider. "I definitely wouldn't mind, to be honest."

Kyosuke gives her the patented stern look and sets the mug down. Truly, living together has proven to be... quite a challenge.

Not an unwelcome one, at least — having someone cuddle into you at night has been extremely pleasant.

"I'm going to text Juzo that he need not hurry. And then I am going get dressed." He goes back to the bedroom and shakes his head when he hears Chisa huff in annoyance.

What a strange, yet lovely girl.

 

* * *

 

_togami/naegi. little princes and tea_

 

If it weren't for the hot cup of green tea (powered up with the tiniest droplet of sake) in his shaking hands, Makoto would probably fall asleep, despite the water being as cold as the deepest parts of hell, and his boyfriend pretending not to be nodding off. It’s useless, though: he’s sitting right behind him, and his head keeps drooping and hitting Makoto on his spine. Ouch.

“Freakin’ rioters,” Makoto mutters, “don’t we deserve a small break?”

Apparently understanding his bleak mood, Byakuya only sighs in agreement, the cool air of his exhale hitting the back of Makoto’s neck, which makes him shiver subtly. Damn, they are so, so freezing, after that mission, their breaths like winter wind. Thank god the boiler is working okay this time.

“I mean, helping them… Who am I kidding.” He laughs bitterly. Come back, beautiful and naive idealism. “Fighting them… still is our responsibility, ‘f course, but.” He leans back and puts his head on his partner’s bare chest, catches the smell of peach soap and freshness, and the faint scent of blood. “I’m so tired, Byakuya. I’m _so damn tired.”_

“Don’t think you’re the only one” Byakuya replies, and he sounds so sad. Makoto can’t see his face, but can still guess his expression with no mistake. And he’s sure he will feel guilty.

They are only twenty-five years old, and they are so, _so_ worn out, just like veterans of previous wars. Makoto sips the tea and closes his eyes.

“Whatever. Let’s finish this bath and go to bed.”

“Finally, some thinking you show."

“Still not using your soap, though. Its smell reminds me of my grandpa.”

 

* * *

 

_naegi/togami. in sickness and health_

 

“How exactly did you manage to get stuck in here?”

Togami grits his teeth, not gracing Naegi with a reply. His leg hurts... quite unnervingly. Damn Despair...!

"Togami-kun?" Naegi crouches by the edge of the pit, his childlike features taunt in a distressed expression. "Do you hear me?"

"Take a guess." He tries to stand up, but his knee has none of that and gives out, making him flop onto the dirt again. Shit. "When you were busy frolicking with Kirigiri, one of the Despairs has, once again, proven not to be familiar with the concept of a fair fight, and, upon my encounter with them, have caused me to fall in here. So I would be quite grateful if you stopped asking inane questions and, perhaps, got some help?"

"Y-yeah..." Naegi pulls out his phone and calls someone. When he's busy whispering and making grim faces, Togami manages to pull himself to a sitting position without crying out in pain. He dares a peek at his body and grimaces. Yes, there's blood, and yes, his left calf really does not look proper. He rests his head against the wall of this cursed pit and focuses on regulating his breathing.

And then he hears a thump.

"Oww..." Naegi picks himself up and winces, rubbing his knees. "That hurt."

"Are you an absolute idiot?!" Togami hisses out, mortified. "What the hell are you doing, jumping in here?!"

"Well." Naegi smiles awkwardly. "It's not like... I could leave you alone."

Togami is stunned silent, and for more reasons than one. Stunned silent, horrified, and perhaps... just a bit thankful.

 

* * *

 

_naegi/munakata. of kittens and video games_

 

All things considered, Makoto isn’t _that_ surprised when the first thing he sees upon entering the house is a bunch of kittens, the number of them ranging from ten to fifteen. And from the fluffy mass of purring animals, a familiar, pale-haired head proudly sticks out.

“Oh, hello,” Kyosuke says casually. He doesn’t take his eyes off the game console he’s currently tormenting, as if it was absolutely normal to lie on the floor whilst covered in cats.

Well…. Actually, Makoto thinks to himself with a small grin, after finding out that the serious Kyosuke Munakata, the Headmaster of the Second Hope’s Peak Academy, is actually a nerd that loves video games, fuzzy things, and everything that contains even a milligram of chocolate — long story short, Makoto put a stop to himself being unnecessary shocked.

“Hi,” he says instead, carefully treading around the kittens to plop down beside his partner and peek at the tiny screen, his head propped on his folded arms. “How are you?”

Kyosuke just mumbles something incoherent, apparently hyperfocusing on his game, but then he messes up an attack and winces as his character dies. Putting his console down on the floor, he gently removes a kitten from his forearm to pull Makoto closer, one hand flung almost carelessly around Makoto's back. Then he lets out a sigh. His eyes flutter closed, and, for a moment, Kyosuke looks five years younger.

“Apparently,” he says tiredly, “the Ultimate Sociologist and the Ultimate Physician had a fight about the nature of their talents. Right after you left, those two about damn well destroyed the whole classroom.”

“Uh, that’s unfortunate…” Makoto smiles sheepishly at his partner’s unamused expression, then adds softly, “You could’ve called me for help. Like, Leon and Togami wouldn’t mind. I think so.” He doesn’t voice his sudden vision of Togami offering to help. It would end up, once again, in lots of alcohol, crying in German, a thrilling discussion about the state of the economy, and Leon being _very_ confused. Makoto shudders internally. Yeah, it’s good that his besties do like Kyosuke, but, truth be told, they’re sometimes scarier than Kristoph Gavin and Manfred von Karma combined.

Kyosuke doesn’t reply, just rests his chin on the top of Makoto’s head. Their fingers find each other.

“I didn’t truly fancy taking you away from your friends,” he says after a while. Makoto feels his heart skip a beat, then thunder more vigorously as his cheeks grow warmer. And they call him the cute one, the dorky one. While his partner is so awkwardly adorable, like a disgruntled cat— oh, the kittens. Makoto reaches with his free hand to rub the nearest one (a calico tabby that looks a bit grumpy) behind its delicate ears. It responds with a purr.

Holy heck, he thinks. I’m dating a cat.

When Makoto starts to chuckle, Kyosuke lets out a bemused sigh, but doesn’t move away. They stay like this, cuddled, sharing their warmth. Relaxing. Unwinding. Being young, for a moment. And it’s all Makoto needs. All Kyosuke needs. This quiet, private moment.

Not counting the cats, of course.

“By the way, where did you find this bunch?” Makoto finally remembers to ask. Kyosuke just laughs silently and turns the console back on. This time, he plays Ace Attorney and hums the theme with Makoto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: alcohol; pda; violence; blood; major character death; depression; broken bones.**
>   * **comment/** kudo **if you read/liked!!!**
>   * this is quite. a bit longer than the usual chapters, but hey, it's been years since i updated this collection. *shrugs*
>   * fun fact: that angsty kyochisa was inspired by a song from high school musical three. lmao.
>   * a lot of these drabbles have been written a very, very long time ago (one is around three y/o), so i deeply apologize for their shit gramma.
> 



	5. five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * beta by misty @mistropolis and vee @ikuzonos, thank you!
>   * **additional warnings in the end notes!**
> 


 

_togami/naegi. longing_

 

Future Foundation’s buildings, created fast and with only functionality in mind, can’t be liked. Coarse blocks of raw concrete, standing on the hurriedly cleaned ruins of former suburbs, overgrowing with barbed wire and snipers’ nests. But despite this ugliness, Togami smiles a little when he sees them.

Or perhaps he smiles at Naegi running at him, Kirigiri slowly following, both of them with similar grins on their faces. Perhaps. Probably.

“Did things worsen this much during my absence?” Togami asks dryly, when Naegi is close enough to hear.

“You’re fine, really fine!” Naegi shouts happily and wraps his arms around Togami's waist — who recoils involuntarily. Then, after he's gathered his bearings, he, without feeling sure about this, puts his hands on Naegi’s shoulders and closes his eyes for a second. He focuses on the touch, scent, and sound, feeling a gentle sort of peacefulness, until Naegi moves back and rubs his neck with a shy smile.

“Such enthusiasm.” Togami shakes his head, trying not to show his bemusement. “So it’s worse than I thought.”

“Surprisingly, no,” Kirigiri says, standing beside Naegi. She pats Togami on the shoulder. “We managed to…” and she starts relating important events from the past week, and Togami is only listening partially, because his thoughts keep running to Naegi, to his eyes and smile, and soft hair, and slim shoulders underneath the suit’s fabric, and— and Kirigiri gives him a meaningful look.

“You must be tired” she notices. ”We’re going to discuss those issues later.” She bows her head and turns around. Before walking away, she says without looking at him, “It’s nice to have you back," and leaves.

“I agree with her," Naegi beams. “It was… weird. Quiet. Asahina didn’t have anyone to argue with.”

“That aspect of living here isn’t one of those I missed," Togami says. Naegi cocks his head and narrows his eyes with amusement.

“I missed you,” he breathes out and suddenly his fingers are tangled with Togami’s. “I was afraid that… you wouldn’t come back, or you’d come without Komaru… well," he laughs awkwardly. “Really… without you… it would be… I would be… um…” he rubs his neck again and suddenly is closer, so much closer. ”Um. Yeah.”

“Naegi, a few days without me and you already lost your capability to put down words into sentences?” Togami carefully paints over kind words with sharpness, “In this case, you are not going to miss me again”.

“Ow.” Naegi dramatically puts his hand over heart and winces. His smile goes from shy into quite malicious. ”It hurts, so now I have to silence you. Better? Words," he brags.

Togami is about to congratulate him sarcastically, but suddenly Naegi pulls him down by his tie, so he can kiss him on the lips.

Well, Togami thinks a little bit later, with his arms full of a sleepy Makoto, really, did I miss him quite a lot.

 

* * *

 

_akamatsu/shirogane. flour and gold_

 

"So," Kaede says, resting her hand on her hip and surveying the mess in the kitchen, "what the heck happened here?"

"I was trying to make oatmeal," Tsumugi murmurs, wiping the sticky-looking smudge on the stove. The tips of her ears are very red. "Then I checked Tumblr, and before I realized, Kokichi-kun and I were busy sending each other anime memes — quite hilarious ones, I might say — and then the pot did… It did that." She points in its direction. Kaede shakes her head, then walks over to her wife and embraces her from behind, kissing the back of her neck.

"At least you tried," she says with a hint of humor, "and hey, if you think you're the only one to fail like this, please know that once I set a sandwich on fire."

"You did?" Tsumugi turns around, one of her twin braids whipping Kaede in the shoulder — but her eyes are so comically wide Kaede doesn't really mind.

"Yeah! I tried to follow this American recipe, but, well, I messed up. Shuichi got me a new pan for birthday, though, so all's well that ends well."

Tsumugi laughs — and the sound is as beautiful as ever. "Yes, yes…" She puts the pot into the sink and returns into Kaede's arms. "And now we have a reason to get McDonald's for breakfast."

"Egg McMuffin," Kaede says worshipfully.

 

* * *

 

 _harukawa/yumeno/shirogane. it's the beat my heart skips when i'm with you_  
  
Seeing Himiko's expression, Maki rolls her eyes. "Why don't you take a picture?" she gripes out, yanking on the hem of her dress. "It'll last longer." She tugs on the soft, wine-red fabric again. A very juvenile part of her wants to twirl and delight at how light it feels on her skin. She stomps on that part until it's twitching like a squashed bug. Let her have some of her composure left, okay?  
"N-nah..." Himiko says slowly. "'m fine." She moves her eyes to Tsumugi, who's very visibly trying not to gloat about her handiwork. "Good job, Mugi." She makes a face at the two of them, so Maki, sharing a fond eyeroll with Tsumugi, joins her on the couch, where they can hold hands and overall be sappy and lovey dovey. Gross.  
(That's a lie, to quote Ouma.)  
"Thank you!" Tsumugi exclaims, leaning in to peck Maki's cheek. "She does look amazing..."  
"I suppose," Maki murmurs, trying to contain her blush. And failing. Great.  
Okay. Sorta great.  
"Like a fairy," Himiko decides. "Or an elf." She pauses, then says, "Mugi, sew one for me too."  
"Sure!"  
"And for yourself too," Maki says before whatever's left of her brain can catch up to her. "We could— match. I guess."  
"The power lesbian trio..." And off Tsumugi goes, into another of her fandom rants. Maki catches Himiko's eyes and smiles back to her.  
She loves them so fucking much.

 

* * *

 

 _naegi/kirigiri. morning is mocking us_  
  
It shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't have ended like this.  
"I loved you," Makoto says after all the other mourners have left — except Komaru, who's standing far enough to give them — him, now it's only him — privacy. "I love you, Kirigiri-s— Kyoko. Kyoko." He laughs; even to him, it sounds hollow and broken, frayed edges of grief and affection combined into a bitter taste in his mouth. He sits down on the young, damp grass, and runs his finger over the wrapping hugging one of the many bouquets adorning Kyoko's fresh grave.  
"I love you," Makoto says again. "So much. I miss you." He pulls his hand back and lets it drop to his lap. "Just— You should've told me. If you had, this wouldn't have— have happened." The implications of that are somber, yet the sorrow which fills his chest to the point of bursting doesn't allow for any other emotion. "But you always worked alone, didn't you? Even then. I—" He pauses, tries to swallow, but his mouth is too dry. "Sometimes, I think that you didn't want to find a place for me by your side, in— in your life."  
His eyes burn with tears that trickle down his cheeks. Makoto doesn't even attempt to wipe them.  
"If only things were different," he croaks out. "We could have a whole life together, and now you're dead, and I'm..." A sob rips out of his parched throat, and then, once again, he's crying in earnest, for Kyoko and the whole future which died with her—  
—for that part of his life she took with her.

 

* * *

 

_saihara/ouma. (guess what) i am not a robot_

 

"Saihara-chan is so warm... Like a baby puppy." Ouma-kun snuggles closer, so Shuichi tightens his hold on him. "Or a baby kangaroo." He laughs into Shuichi's chest. "Holy shit, and he's blushing like a maiden!"  
Shuichi scoffs, instinctively rubbing at his reddened cheeks. "W-well, if we hadn't ended up in such a— a strange situation, then I wouldn't be!" Truly, the weirdest hanging out time he's had so far — and he spent some time with _Shinguji-kun himself._

Ouma-kun leans away and blinks at him slowly.  
"Are you afraid, Saihara-chan? _Shui-chan?_ That I would hurt you?" He bares his teeth. "It _is_ a killing game, after all!"  
Puffing out a breath, Shuichi twists without letting go of Ouma-kun — Kokichi? — so they're lying side by side, their noses only a few millimeters away from each other. From this distance, Shuichi can see the flash of surprise in Kokichi's eyes, and it almost makes him grin. But instead he moves one of his hands to Kokichi's cheek.  
"I don't think you would hurt me, Ouma-kun," Shuichi says. "I think you're lying. And I think—"  
"Geez, you think too much!" Kokichi rolls his eyes, but he's not moving away; he's smiling in a way that seems almost sincere.  
At least, Shuichi chooses to believe so.

 

* * *

 

_sayaka/mukuro. beekeepers_

 

In the artificial light, Mukuro seems even paler than usual, their freckled skin almost translucent. The lack of natural light, Sayaka supposes, also has to do with it. Without looking away from them, she reaches out for their hand and intertwines their fingers together. Mukuro pulls her palm to their lips and kisses each knuckle with gentleness unfitting their strong grasp.  
"Hey, Sayaka," they say so lightly that she knows it's forced, "what would you say if I asked you to leave this place with me?"  
Sayaka makes a surprised noise in the back of her throat. "But what about everyone else? How would we survive? What about your sister?"  
Mukuro frowns, a dark look in their ash-gray eyes. "W-Well. Everyone else would— would make do. So would the two of us." They press their lips together so tightly they go white. Sayaka sighs. They're such a bad liar. She gazes thoughtfully at the ceiling.  
It's been two months since Hope's Peak got locked up, and the tension between everyone hidden — _trapped_ — there has been growing with each passing bland day. Kirigiri-senpai organizes them some entertaining activities every day, yet Sayaka tends to spend more and more time in her room, with Mukuro, spreading her duvets on the floor and cuddling there to talk about everything and nothing. But— not about this, never about this.  
"I don't know, Mukuro," she says in the end. "I— Yeah, I would leave with you in a heartbeat if only we were alone here." She moves closer to them, presses a kiss to their cheekbone. "But we can't abandon our friends." Mukuro won't look her in the eye, for some reason. Huh. Seems like they got really into their idea. "I'm sorry."  
"It's fine, Sayaka," Mukuro says softly. "Forget I asked."

 

* * *

 

_togami. 17_

 

the cigarette smoke burns his throat, and byakuya inhales the poison even harder, hoping the pain and the fire will become one and turn his lungs into ashes.  
good god, it's fucked up. he's fucked up. he's a tree rotting from inside, a preserved corpse with maggots eating up decaying flesh and a— a—  
he's really tired. those words of calming self-hatred escape him, and nothing else is allowed. such a mess doesn't deserve relief, this faulty mind and scarred limbs must work for others until this sorry excuse for a body gives up.  
  
_his father hits him for the first time when byakuya is seven, he slaps him offhandedly and mutters something about dumb girls when his son sees a monster. mom cries._  
  
some days, naegi's kindness seems natural. it's what friends do, and byakuya forgets, even if for a shaky moment. those sincere eyes and unhidden exhaustion are what byakuya treasures the most. he holds them close, along with asahina's smiles around shared donuts, fukawa's new-found bravery and how hagakure pats him on the shoulder.  
but when a grain of sand grows into a mountain and byakuya can't breathe without desperately wishing it's the last time he does so, he wonders when the people he learned to love will leave. his nails leave a crescents on his cheeks.  
  
_barely a month after he moves to japan, his mom — Mom — dies, and byakuya feels the threads connecting him to the world snap. with aloysius's hand brushing his forearm, he cries when Mom disappears into the ground. his father's harsh words are punctuated with slaps and punches and pulls—_  
  
whenever he doesn't have the energy to try to work himself to death, byakuya drowns in fukawa's books. he is a girl in love with a fisherman, or a boy whose classmates fall in love with him. he leaves the red sky and odor of blood on concrete behind. he's in a place where nothing hurts.  
he closes the worn copy of fukawa's debut and thinks about the better reality. the window of his apartment is open, so, maybe, if he were to—  
but, ah. he's a coward in the end.  
  
_people wonder how he managed to move on. but he didn't. scars bloom in red on his hips, and the kids from school laugh when he asks them to use his correct name, and he doesn't move on. he exists he exists he exists and that's it._  
  
_he meets naegi, then kirigiri. then kirigiri kisses him behind the gym. then she tells him she likes him, but his asexuality won't allow them to be happy with each other, and his heart breaks but that's okay, that's okay. then he falls for naegi._  
_then naegi holds her so close until they're one, and byakuya understands._ _  
_ and then she dies.

  
the smoke dances before him. byakuya closes his eyes.  
togami opens his eyes.  
all he can do is survive and maybe try hoping the good moments will fuse into a more bearable life.  
he still hasn't moved on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a/n
> 
>   * **cw: pda; canonical character death discussion; smoking; self-hatred; abuse; misgendering.**
>   * #1 - this is... very old. written for togami's birthday in... 2015? dunno. after dr:ae dropped, that's for sure, lol. and that is why this drabble sucks so much ass.
>   * #2 - written for klara @fatiguedfern, as a thank-you for... being there, i suppose. <3 love ya, klara!
>   * #3 - written for vee, to thank them for their support and still being willing to beta my works!
>   * #4 - another work for vee. what can i say? i love vee A Lot.
>   * #5 - this one goes for kiki @idaate, who's a darling and one of the best writers in the fandom.
>   * #6 - for vee. _hehe._
>   * #7 - and this one is a... vent fic, i suppose. hard projection and all of that. 
> 


**Author's Note:**

> feed me validation


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